


Favors

by merriman



Category: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/pseuds/merriman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quest to the White City, with rats and Rat Speakers, nuns, bawdy drinking songs and favors repaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frazzles](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Frazzles).



**Part 1 - The Tunnel**

It was cold. Cold and damp and there was the oddest smell that Richard hadn't identified yet, but he was working on it. There was something rotten, definitely, which was utterly unsurprising. Also something floral, but Richard had no idea what sort of flower would grow down in London Below. Aside from the rotten and floral, and yes, rotting floral, smells there was also something smoky, which was probably a fire. Fires were not precisely unexpected in an underground world, after all. And then, underneath all of that, there was something else. Richard had decided to ignore de Carabas' never ending monologue on his own merits and failures and Richard's merits, which were many fewer than the marquis', and failures, of which there were many more, in favor of trying to identify that one hidden scent. It was a clean smell. Something reminiscent, though discernibly unlike, what the bathroom in his Aunt Maude's flat smelled like when she was expecting visitors. It wasn't bleach, though that had come to mind, but it was clean.

"I shan't be surprised if I'm rid of you by tomorrow." The marquis de Carabas had stopped walking and was glaring at Richard as if he had committed some unspeakable faux pas. Perhaps he had. Richard was quite aware that he was a newcomer in London Below, and that there were more pitfalls here than firm ground, often literally.

"What?" Richard stopped as well and leaned on the wall, after checking it over to verify its existence and safety of course. "Think I'll go haring off on my own to have some grand adventure, leaving you to the safety of a life without me?"

"No, I was thinking that you'll be getting yourself killed any minute now." The marquis de Carabas grinned, his teeth glinting in the low light of the tunnel they were in. "It's been what? Two days since you came through? I'd think it's high time that something happened."

"You forget," Richard pointed out, "I had Door with me last time." Door, while lovely and interesting and captivating, had also been a magnet for trouble. Richard felt vaguely guilty for not going off to find her as soon as he'd reentered London Below. It had, after all, been his intent. There was still the question of if anyone in her family was still alive, and she seemed fairly vulnerable, even with Islington, Crouch and Vandemar gone. The marquis, however, had different ideas, and had informed him quite quickly that the Lady Door had acquired other assistants and could take care of herself. As Richard knew next to nothing about the geography and many peoples of London Below, it had seemed wise at the time to stick with the marquis, at least for a little while.

"That is true," the marquis allowed. "The young lady did have a certain talent for attracting the very sort of attention that I like to avoid."

"Well she's certainly not with us now," Richard said, looking up and down the tunnel. "I'd appreciate if you didn't keep rubbing it in my face that I have no idea what I'm doing here."

"But it's so much fun!" The marquis smiled again and resumed his rather hurried pace down the tunnel. "Besides, you owe me now. Something rather huge I would think. If you die before I get to collect, I'd at least like to have gotten some amusement out of you."

"Yeah, I suppose I do." Richard shrugged, uneasy at the thought of owing a man like de Carabas anything at all, let alone a 'rather huge' favor. "So where are we headed again?" When Richard had followed the marquis through the doorway in the wall, they'd been dead in the center of the city. This was useful, or it had been at the time, as it had allowed Richard a chance to get his bearings, as well as make a few trades with people they'd come across. In addition to the knife Hunter had given him, Richard now carried a satchel and wore a coat with quite a few more pockets than the one he'd had before. Pockets seemed to be useful things to have, and Richard had already secreted away more than a few odds and ends picked up as they walked. The man who'd traded Richard's old coat for his new one had looked at him appraisingly then nodded and declared that the new coat was a good item for a great hunter. Richard still wondered whether the man had been joking or somehow serious.

The marquis did not pause or turn to look at Richard, simply continuing to walk down the tunnel and around a slight bend. "We are headed for a little place I know where we can get some sleep. I can't imagine that a famed hunter like yourself needs as much rest as a humble marquis such as I..."

Richard rolled his eyes and caught up with de Carabas. "No, I mean eventually. Where are we going in the larger scheme of things. You don't have to keep me in the dark." The marquis didn't laugh, not audibly anyhow, though Richard thought he might have spied a slight smile from the man beside him.

The marquis stopped and reached up to push on the ceiling of the tunnel, which creaked. Now, Richard was quite sure that ceilings of stone tunnels should not creak, but he was equally sure that there was a lot about this trip that the marquis knew, and he didn't. For example, the marquis knew their destination, which he didn't seem to want to share. He also knew that there was a trap door directly above where they were now standing. It was rather galling really, that someone as insufferable as the marquis de Carabas actually tended to know as much as he claimed to.

"Here we are. A nice, safe little hole to spend a few hours in before we're on our way." The marquis pulled down a rope ladder and had soon disappeared through the hole, leaving Richard in the dark below.

"Hey! You've got the light!" Richard called up. A bright smile flashed from above as the marquis held his lantern aloft.

"Didn't think a hunter and champion like you needed it, with all of those amazing instincts you've got."

Richard didn't bother to answer as he took hold of the now visible ladder and climbed up. The 'little hole' was just that: a hole. It was also dark, dank, and not quite big enough for two. Reaching out to gingerly touch one of the walls, Richard was relieved to find them dry enough to lean against. The marquis had set the lantern on the floor and taken his coat off to rest on. Richard quickly did the same and found himself right up against de Carabas, which was unsurprising given the size of the hole they were in. He shifted and the marquis shifted with him. He turned and the marquis turned as well.

"Excuse me for asking, but what are you doing?" Richard asked.

The marquis chuckled and leaned his face in close to Richard's. "I believe I mentioned earlier that you owe me."

"Owe you what? Use of my body as a pillow?" Richard scoffed, but the marquis was nodding.

"You can't honestly say you're all that repulsed. In fact, I'd venture a guess that you're not repulsed at all - unless you find me utterly unattractive, which I cannot fathom."

"Oh?" Richard inched away from the marquis. "And just how do you know that?"

The marquis closed the very small gap that Richard had achieved. "I make it my business to know enough that when I do not know something, I can make a good educated guess. You seem just the type to have secretly glanced at your mates after football in the afternoons, then begged off showering lest they see your interest. Then I'd say you likely latched onto a woman who didn't care, and wouldn't care, and you convinced yourself that you loved her and she loved you and you'd both have led perfectly successful, if bland and unsatisfied lives. If not for your little encounter with Door, and myself, and all that fuss. Right so far?"

Richard stared at the marquis in the flickering light of the lantern. Before the marquis could say anything more, Richard shrugged and looked away, towards a wall that offered nothing more than the comfort of not being the marquis de Carabas.

"And what of it if you're right?" No matter how accurate de Carabas' words might be, and his guess was fairly close to the mark, giving him yet more information without getting some in return grated on Richard's sense of fair play.

"That is a very good question. You see, I'd like to collect on that favor you owe me, and I'd like to collect on it now, but then I'm not one for forcing myself on others. Just not sporting." Now the marquis was at Richard's shoulder, his breath tickling Richard's cheek. "If you're worried about it being a secret, well, now you know something about me, don't you?"

If he hadn't already been rather certain of the marquis' sexual preferences, Richard might have been inclined to believe that he'd been given a good nugget of information in exchange for his own, but for goodness sake, the man wore a frock coat with lace cuffs. Still, Richard supposed that it was something, and that was a sight better than what the marquis usually gave.

"Why waste a very big favor on sex, though?" Richard heard himself asking, and didn't quite have the willpower to stop himself from his next question. "I mean, you could ask me to do any number of things. Why this? Now?"

"Remember that I mentioned getting some amusement out of you for you'll likely be dead soon?"

Richard nodded.

"Right, well, that answers that then, doesn't it? I'm sure if you're not dead by tomorrow evening you'll owe me at least three times over." The marquis grinned once more, Richard could feel it even though he was still studying the wall in the darkness. It seemed to have once been made of plaster, but covered over with paper. Now the paper was in tatters and shreds and the plaster peeked through in patches. Quite fascinating really, but Richard turned away from the wall and the paper, with its odd pictures he couldn't quite make out in the dim light.

"Fine. You're right. I do fancy women though," Richard noted as the marquis backed up a tiny bit to allow him some space to move in.

"Of course you do. So do I. I just fancy blokes as well." The marquis nodded and reached for Richard. "Now, if you do end up owing me another big favor, and neither of us finds this dissatisfying, then I'm sure an arrangement for repayment can be made."

Richard almost laughed at that, because now, with everything out in the open, or soon to be, as it were, it didn't seem too hard to admit that his fascination with Door earlier on had almost been eclipsed by his fascination with de Carabas. In fact, the man probably wouldn't have had to call in that big favor at all if he'd just made the suggestion and pressed a little bit. No need to tell the marquis that, though. Better for Richard to keep that knowledge to himself for now.

As the marquis grabbed his coat and found a pocket with a small vial of oil, Richard did laugh. "I knew pockets would be useful down here," he muttered.

 

 **Part 2 - The Train**

Richard awoke to the sound of the marquis snoring next to him. The man had an arm draped around Richards waist, and a leg pinning him down. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, but it was unfamiliar and Richard carefully shifted out from under the marquis in an attempt not to wake the other man. He felt stiff, and a little sore, but not in a bad way, which was a distinct relief. As he sat up, Richard was quite glad that they'd had the presence of mind to clean up after themselves. London Below was not famed for the cleanliness and bathing habits of its inhabitants, and that could have been quite a problem.

With Richard no longer available to lean on, the marquis turned over, muttering to himself in his sleep. Richard watched him for a moment then took out his knife to sharpen, clean, and polish it. His habits with the knife had been a major clue that he no longer belonged in London Above, and if he was going to go filling some odd role of a warrior down here, Richard figured the least he could do was take care of his one real weapon.

"What time is it?" The marquis' voice was muffled, but definitely awake.

"How the bloody hell should I know? I traded my watch for the bag, remember? And it was broken anyhow." Richard continued taking care of his blade as the marquis sat up. When Richard looked over at him, he seemed unnaturally awake for one who had been all but dead to the world just moments before.

"Ahh. Yes. Well, I think that makes it time to get going." Managing to stand in the cramped space, the marquis shrugged on his coat and undid the latch on the trapdoor in the floor. Richard put his knife away and gathered his things before following the marquis down the ladder.

"Might I ask again where we're headed?" Richard ventured when they'd been walking for a few minutes.

"You could," the marquis said, nodding.

Richard sighed and frowned. "Well, where are we headed?"

"The White Chapel."

"Oh. What's there?"

"Nuns."

And that was apparently all that Richard was going to get out of de Carabas for the moment. It wasn't really a shock to find that there were nuns at Whitechapel, after all, there'd been monks at Blackfriars. But the marquis didn't seem the religious type, and Richard was unsure as to the nature of these nuns.

"Will I have to do some dreadful ordeal with hallucinations and all that?" Richard inquired. The marquis shook his head.

"No. I might. You won't. Well, not unless you wish to avail yourself of their services, which you might, but then again, you being a warrior and hunter and champion and knight - well, as Hunter said, you all don't go in for that sort of thing." The marquis shrugged as if it was of no consequence to him, while Richard tried to work his words into some sort of sense. He vaguely recalled Hunter saying something to the marquis as she'd died, but by then Richard was about to face the Beast, and he hadn't been paying much attention to anything that didn't have to do with surviving.

When it seemed as though they must have walked half of the underside, Richard stopped. The marquis kept walking for about fifteen steps before pausing and looking back.

"Is something wrong?" The marquis asked, his voice simply dripping with feigned concern.

"I think I'd like to stop for a moment. If you want to push on, that's all very well, but do you think you might at least tell me where we are now?" Richard rummaged in his satchel for an apple he knew he'd put in there the day before. When he looked up, the marquis was beside him.

"We are currently a good distance below Mile End station. It's a Sunday, so there's limited service for London Above between here and White Chapel. We folk of the underside get the trains to ourselves once the station doors are locked." The marquis gestured to a turn in the passage they were in, through which Richard could see there was a step up, likely followed by many more steps.

"But we started out near Picadilly..." Richard began, but was cut off by the marquis shaking his head.

"The only way to the White Chapel is by train. And only on Sundays." The marquis led Richard over to the steps and they started climbing.

"Let me guess," Richard muttered twenty minutes later. "Mile End is about a mile up." Laughing, the marquis stopped to let Richard catch up with him.

"You're definitely learning," he said, when Richard had joined him on a landing. "One mile straight up. Of course, since we're climbing steps, we're probably walking further than that."

"How comforting. You really do know how to say just the right thing for any occasion." Richard hefted his satchel and took a breath before continuing on.

What seemed to be hours later, though Richard knew it was likely only an hour at most, they arrived at the top of the steps. In front of them was an open doorway through which Richard could see quite a few people milling about on a train platform. It was definitely not the wild and confusing collection of people he'd seen in the Floating Markets, but it seemed that more than a few of the larger groups were represented amongst the twenty or so people there. Three of the Sewer Folk were huddled in an alcove, a stray wisp of air carrying their stench across the platform every so often. Richard spied one of the Velvets drifting through the people on the platform, leaving a trail of rime on the stone floor behind her. Two Rat Speakers stood by the edge of the platform, crouched down and apparently talking to something.

While the marquis bartered for their passage to the White Chapel Richard wandered over to the Rat Speakers.

"Hello," he said to them, peeking down towards the rails and catching a glimpse of what was undoubtedly the blackest rat he had ever seen. The Rat Speakers turned to him and smiled.

"Well well, if it isn't Richard of Maybury," the older one said, patting the younger one on the shoulder. She looked up at him, her disbelief quite apparent.

"That's Richard of Maybury? Really?" She asked the older man, who nodded. Richard nodded as well.

"Mayhew, actually, but yeah, that's me. Who're you talking to?" Richard looked down and saw that the rat was still there. "Hello. I'm sorry, I don't know your name or I'd greet you properly."

The rat squeaked and the older Rat Speaker knelt down to listen. "He says to tell you that his name is Mister Crumbfinder. We're supposed to be escorting him to the Chapel, but he insisted that there was a half bar of chocolate down there." The rat squeaked again. "Sorry, sorry. He says there IS half a bar of chocolate down there, but he can't get it up to the platform. Here, Nova, you go down and help him."

Nova sighed and carefully lowered herself down into the well where the tracks ran. "Oh, Castor! It's more than half a bar! With nuts!" She tossed the chocolate up to Castor and then held Mister Crumbfinder up. Castor was still putting the chocolate away in his pocket, so Richard reached out. The rat sniffed his hands and delicately climbed into them, then scurried up Richard's arm and dug its claws into his coat at the shoulder.

"Here, help me, will you?" Castor grabbed one of Nova's hands, and Richard took the other so she could climb out. Mister Crumbfinder transferred himself to Nova across their arms and squeaked. "He thanks you for helping him and us. If you ever need a hand, Richard of Maybury, ask one of the rats." Castor and Nova nodded, and Mister Crumbfinder squeaked. Richard thanked them and turned to find the marquis.

"So you've made friends with the Rat Speakers," de Carabas noted. He handed Richard a paper card. "Here, you'll need this when we get there."

Looking it over, Richard realized that he was holding an expired one day pass. "It's from two months ago," he pointed out to the marquis.

"And?"

"And, er, nothing. Just saying." Richard shrugged and pocketed the card. "Doesn't the Earl run the trains down here? I thought he didn't like you much."

The marquis sighed dramatically and nodded. "He does, but not this train. He doesn't much like the nuns of the White Chapel. In fact, he might like them less than he likes me. But you see, they did him a very important, and dangerous service, and in return they get two trains every Sunday when this line goes down to the Upworlders."

When the train sped into the station a few minutes later Richard followed the marquis aboard and sat quietly, thinking about everything he'd seen since returning to London Below, and everything he'd done. The previous night's activities didn't seem to have the weight he had expected them to. Was it that he really had been interested? The marquis had been as considerate as he could have asked, and really, it had been rather good, if different from anything Richard had ever done before. It simply seemed strange to not worry about it.

"You know, I'd have wagered that you'd be the talkative type after sex," the marquis said, breaking Richard's train of thought while at the same time continuing the subject.

"Did you? Why's that?" Richard turned to face de Carabas and put on his best 'listening look'.

"Nothing in particular, you just seemed the type to have to hash things out afterward. Make a big deal out of it all. I must say, I'm quite disappointed to find that I'm wrong for once."

Richard smirked and shrugged. "It happens to everyone some time." And just like that, he determined that he would not go asking the marquis any questions about his reasons behind the previous night. He would not let it bother him, or bully himself into over-analyzing it. To do so would prove the marquis right, and it was far too satisfying to prove the man wrong to do that.

There wasn't enough time for them to settle into silence, uncomfortable or otherwise, for the conductor then announced that they would be arriving at the White Chapel momentarily and to have their passes ready for collection.

 

 **Part 3 - The White Chapel**

While filing through the gates, Richard inspected the building before them. It appeared to have been carved into the wall of the cavern they were in. The face of the building looked to be a typical stone chapel, aside from it being a brilliant white which seemed to shine even in the semidarkness. A woman in a white habit stood at the top of the steps to greet them.

"Welcome, I am Sister Bronwyn. Petitioners wishing for a blessing from Mother Superior Wendy, please follow Sister Laksha." Sister Bronwyn gestured to a young girl who looked to be just old enough to join the order. The girl nodded and several of the people from the train stepped forward, the Rat Speakers and the Velvet among them.

"If you seek sanctuary here at the White Chapel," she paused and peered out into the diminished group as three boys and an elderly gentleman rushed toward her. "Please follow Sister Ailbhe, who will inform you of the rules here." The boys and the man quickly left with Sister Ailbhe, who started whispering to them as soon as they were in hearing range.

"Do we have any wishing to join the Order?" Sister Bronwyn asked. A woman brushed past Richard, pulling a girl behind her. As they passed, Richard saw that the girl's skin was nearly translucent, her hair bleach-blond. She looked back at him, showing her red eyes. When Richard looked up at Sister Bronwyn he noted that she too was an albino.

Alone or in groups, the people left with various nuns, off to do whatever they had come to do, until Richard and the marquis stood by themselves in the cavern that faced the chapel doors. Sister Bronwyn walked down the steps towards them.

"The marquis de Carabas. Again. I believe I know why you are here, for we always know. Does your companion also have need of our services?" She regarded Richard solemnly without blinking. "No. I see that you do not. You are a knight, sir."

Chuckling, Richard shrugged. "I don't know if I am or not, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

The nun raised her pale eyebrows and glanced at the marquis. "Really. Well, do come inside. There are preparations to be made in any event. We can have a nice cup of tea while your friend is otherwise engaged and I will explain."

The marquis went off down a hallway that was lit with candles in little alcoves, while Richard followed Sister Bronwyn into a cheerful little study filled with items of various textures. There were lengths of fur, knobbly hunks of driftwood, something that looked like sandpaper, and a bolt of what Richard suspected was silk brocade, all white, light grey, or pale tan. He sat down in an armchair covered in plush velvet which Jessica might have labeled 'ecru' or 'eggshell'.

"We do many things here at the White Chapel," Sister Bronwyn said as she sat down in a chair facing Richard's. "But of them all, there is one thing that we do that no one else can. It is not a thing that many ask, for the price is quite high, but those in a dangerous line of work sometimes like a bit of insurance." She smiled gently and poured tea from a white china teapot.

"What sort of insurance?" Richard asked as he stirred sugar into his tea.

Instead of answering, Sister Bronwyn asked another question, "How long have you known de Carabas?"

"Not long. We helped Lady Door a little while back..."

She nodded. "That would explain it. We heard about her family, poor things. And the business with Islington. We could have told you not to trust Islington. Never trust an angel who does not dwell in heaven. Something happened to the marquis, yes? He died?"

Richard stared at her for a moment. "I have no idea. He missed meeting us at the Market on the Belfast, but I don't..." He trailed off, remembering the marquis saying something about keeping a low profile and people thinking he was dead because he was. "Yes, I think he did."

"We can trap an echo of your life. It is never certain how well it will work, but something will remain to be released if you die. The marquis de Carabas has had us do this for him three times now. It becomes harder each time." The nun sipped her tea and fingered a swatch of fur on the arm of her chair. "This time, he will have to do something for us. Something we cannot do ourselves."

Richard sipped his tea, added more sugar, and sipped again. "So what's he got to do that you can't?"

"He must retrieve a relic for us from the White City. When our order was finally forced from the city, we left behind a piece of the original Charing Cross. It has been quite some time since our flight from the city, and, cloistered as we are, we cannot retrieve it ourselves." Sister Bronwyn poured more tea for herself and sighed. "I am afraid that the White City is no longer the welcoming place it once was. He will have a hard time of it."

"Well, he's done plenty of dangerous things before. What about me? Do I go with him?" Richard asked, setting his teacup down.

"Only if you insist. After all, you are not asking anything of us, and he is." She smiled and stood. "You are free to stay with us while he undertakes our errand."

In the end, Richard took Sister Bronwyn up on her offer and walked with her to the doors when the second train came to take the petitioners away. The marquis hadn't said a word about Richard's decision and Richard might have worried that the man would think him a coward, or that he would lose some of the marquis' respect. He knew, however, that de Carabas only really respected himself, and already considered Richard a coward, so it was no big deal after all. The Rat Speakers were leaving, as was the Velvet and most of the others. A few, such as Richard and the albino girl, came to say goodbye to those who were leaving.

"I'll be back in no time. Next week's train," the marquis grinned at Richard and left through the gates.

 

 **Part 4 - The City**

The White City had not been white in at least a century. When the nuns of the White Chapel had consolidated their order, fleeing the city, it had lost what little luster it had left. The marquis de Carabas looked up at the remains of the city and sighed. Things really were far too complicated these days. As he climbed through the rubble of the city, the marquis hummed to himself. He was relatively certain that Richard would not find a way to get himself killed while in the chapel with the nuns. But then, Richard was quite an interesting fellow, and still quite untutored in the ways of the Underside. Still, he hadn't died once yet, and the marquis had to admit that was better than his own score in the past few weeks.

A large chunk of marble stood in the center of an open courtyard. There was nothing on it, but the marquis knew that what he was after was actually underneath it, in the catacombs below the city. It was getting into the catacombs that would prove problematic now, with the city in ruins around him. Every so often he could hear noises. Some were clearly those of animals, others were harder to identify. Breaking glass, creaks and groans of stressed metal and wood, noises that could be due to the city falling apart, or due to scavengers, human or otherwise, following, watching. The city's inhabitants had taken to fighting amongst themselves when no one else in London Below would come within spitting distance of the city's borders.

Once, it had been a marvelous place, as big as London itself, though from outside of the borders it seemed to take up only a city block at most. The marquis shoved aside a pile of broken urns and fence slats to reveal a hole just large enough to crawl into. The tunnel underneath the courtyard was a twisted maze of rock and debris. When the marquis found the crystal box with a splintered piece of wood inside, he pocketed it and made his way out. Unfortunately, he was only five paces away from the hole he'd climbed in through when the last support beam in the tunnel gave way, dropping on top of him and effectively pinning him to the floor of the tunnel, just a short distance from freedom.

While it was entirely possible that he might die eventually, the marquis was quite aware that he was not dead yet, or even seriously injured, making his chance of rescue much slimmer than it might have been. Death would have alerted the nuns, who would, perhaps, have sent out a search party of some sort. As it was, it might be a few weeks before anyone came looking. The thought was disheartening.

As it happened, however, the marquis had managed to get himself trapped on Saturday, and in a location frequented by a few of the rats native to the White City. Not that any of them went near him, for they didn't know the marquis, and those trapped in cave-ins and the like in the city had a tendency to try and capture rats as an emergency food source. Instead the city rats put out word that a man had gotten himself trapped in the catacombs, and was singing bawdy songs in a dozen languages, so if anyone wanted a good show, the city had an entertainer.

Richard, meanwhile, was learning quite a bit from the nuns, and from the people living in the White Chapel. The man and boys who had taken sanctuary there were hiding from one of the Shepherds. The albino girl, now a novitiate, told Richard all about her home in a gypsy camp. Her family and their friends had declared her either cursed, or blessed, depending on which superstitions one was paying attention to.

When the marquis did not stroll off of the train on Sunday, Richard turned from the window he was looking out of to Sister Bronwyn and looked at her questioningly.

"You'd know if he was dead, right?" he asked.

She nodded. "The life that he left would have alerted us. He is not dead, or wounded even, or we would know. His task was perilous. No matter what he boasted, for him to accomplish what we set him to do in one week was not entirely likely."

Richard sighed and watched the new group of petitioners gather in front of the steps. At first he did not recognize any of them, which wasn't surprising since he knew next to no one in London Below. Then he saw a familiar face.

"That's one of the Rat Speakers from last week," Richard said, pointing out Castor in the crowd. Sister Bronwyn hmmed and nodded.

"Perhaps he would ask one of the rats to keep an eye out for your marquis," she suggested.

Richard stayed behind when Sister Bronwyn went down to meet the petitioners, but she returned quickly, with Castor behind her. The old Rat Speaker rushed over to Richard and took a rat from his pocket. It was grey, and scarred, and smaller than the rats Richard had met before.

"Master Pinknose, this is Sir Richard of Maybury," Castor said, holding the rat up to inspect Richard, who was very pleased with himself for managing to maintain a serious face while he reminded himself that it probably sounded better in Rat. "He's a friend of the marquis, the man you and your fellows found."

The rat squeaked and turned its head to look at Castor, then back at Richard.

"Yes, of course I'm sure that this is him," Castor assured the rat. "Really. Yes." He looked up at Richard. "Master Pinknose is from the White City. The rats there don't normally come out of the city but then, most folk from the Underside leave the city alone these days, and now they've got a man trapped in a tunnel, singing songs. They've all been having a grand time listening to him. From the description, it sounds like your marquis."

"He's not mine," Richard said absently. "So what do we do? Why is he singing songs?"

"Beats me. Beats the rats too. None of them want to get close enough to ask. He's definitely trapped though. Soon as I heard, I asked Master Pinknose to come with me to tell you. You being a hero and all, I thought you'd want to do something. Help him." Castor placed Master Pinknose on his shoulder and held up a bit of bread to him. Richard watched the rat nibble the bread away into crumbs then lick those from Castor's shoulder.

"But I don't know how to get to the city, and it's dangerous, yeah? Can't we find someone else to do it?" Richard frowned as Sister Bronwyn and Castor shook their heads. "Right, it'd take too long to find someone who didn't want to kill him, I suppose. I'll need a guide though, and no Velvets."

"Master Pinknose and I will guide you. Master Pinknose knows all about the White City. Every nook and cranny. The rats and the Rat Speakers will help you, if you'll do the same in kind some day. I told you we'd help if you asked." Castor smiled and held Master Pinknose out to Richard.

Richard nodded to them both. "Thank you, Master Pinknose. We should leave on the late train then."

In the next few hours, Richard had a few moments to stop and reflect on what he was doing, and each time he found it as incomprehensible as the last. He was leaving the quiet safety of the White Chapel, possibly one of the safest places he'd been in all of London Below. He was leaving the Chapel to go to a city known for being deadly, dangerous, and altogether unsound, to save a man who, in all likelihood, would have let him rot if their positions were reversed. The only explanation that Richard could come up with was that he was likely still trying to prove himself to the marquis in some way. It wasn't particularly flattering, but Richard wasn't too concerned about it.

When the late train pulled out from the White Chapel platform, Richard, Castor, and Master Pinknose were aboard it and on their way. Castor seemed confident that the three of them could make it to the White City without much trouble. Richard was not so sure, but then he admitted to himself that his past experiences in traveling in the Underside were rather skewed towards running from psychotic murderers. Without two insane cutthroats at his back, it was entirely possible that his life would only be in moderate danger.

"How do we get to the city?" Richard asked on Monday as they crawled through a pipe that looked to be in danger of rusting through in many places.

"Well we're going there now, right?" Castor said, not looking back so as to keep his eyes on Master Pinknose, who had scampered on ahead.

"Yes, I know, but is there anything special we have to do? Like with the Black Friars there were tests, and Down Street had that horrid bridge, and the White Chapel can only be got to by train. Do we have to get some special staff and knock five and a half times on a great ivory door or something?" Richard scowled as he felt something wet under his knees.

"No, nothing like that. No special staffs or keys or bridges. You do have to have a strong stomach though. And a token, but we can get one of those at the next Market. Since no one goes to the city anymore you can get a pocketful of them for a nice sharp pencil with a full eraser." Castor paused to listen to Master Pinknose. "The border of the city can make you a bit queasy going through. Now, there's a bend up ahead, follow me carefully."

Richard kept close to Castor and soon they were out of the tunnel. A group of men passed them, speaking a low, hoarse language that Richard couldn't understand. They all had pith helmets on, painted in garish colors. Two seemed to be arguing about something and Richard would have passed them by, but Castor stopped.

"Any of you lot know where the Market'll be tonight?"

"Trafalgar." It was the only word they'd said that Richard recognized, but he realized it was enough.

"Thanks!" He called after them as they walked away. One waved over his shoulder without turning.

"Well, that's a lucky thing. It's almost on our way." Castor grinned and tucked Master Pinknose into a pocket.

 

 **Part 5 - The Market**

"So, we need a token." Richard glanced around as they approached the Market and made their way through the throngs. "What sort of token?"

The Floating Market was enormous, filling Trafalgar Square and spilling out to the streets nearby. Barkers perched on every available surface, calling out what Richard supposed were enticements to buy their wares. The second Market he'd been to had been much less of a shock to him than the first, but now he found that while some of the people around him still stared, they appeared to be staring at almost everyone who passed, not singling Richard himself out as an outsider. He looked down at himself and smiled, realizing that a week and a half of living in the Underside had left him looking much like many of the other people milling around the Market.

Castor navigated through stalls and knots of hagglers, clearly looking for something in particular. "Nothing all that interesting. History has it that they were rare at one time, when the White City was a place of wonders and learning. Now though, it's a pit. No one wants to go there, but the tokens still surface all the time. They look like poker chips and they don't get dirty. Look for a pile of them, they tend to show up in stacks where you least expect them, like the city wants people to come back."

"Oh." Richard nodded. There was something rather sinister about a city trying to entice people to visit it, like one of those deep sea fish with the glowing bits that dangled in front to lure in prey. Richard was still entertaining doubts about this whole journey, and only by constantly reminding himself that there were no bloodthirsty killers after him and that the look on the marquis' face would be priceless was he able to keep going without voicing his numerous worries to Castor.

They stopped at a table underneath one of the lions and Richard stood by and watched Castor speak with the wrinkled little old lady standing behind it. They chattered at each other for a moment before three rats climbed up the lady's shoulders from behind. Castor brought Master Pinknose out and the rats seemed to confer about something.

"They say he's moved on from bawdy drinking songs to sea chanties," Castor said as he turned to look at Richard. "They want to know if they help us, will we have him write some of them down. Rats like sea chanties."

"I don't see why not. I mean, if we save his life and all, the least he can do is write down a few songs, right?" Richard shrugged and the rats squeaked and Castor and the old lady grinned.

"The rats say that a man around the corner has a box full of tokens that he's willing to trade," Castor said. "I'll be right back." He was gone less than a moment later, leaving Richard with all four rats and the little old lady, who nodded to him and turned to chase away a gaggle of children who had gathered around the table. The rats seemed to be discussing something, two of them squeaking while the other two listened. Master Pinknose appeared to have the final say just as Castor reappeared.

"Well, thats that then, I've got us two tokens, and off we go!"

Richard took one of the chips from Castor and offered a hand to Master Pinknose, who climbed up his arm. "Won't we need supplies? If he's trapped in a tunnel, we'll need rope and the like?"

"Too right, we'll be wanting a pry bar as well, better get things here before we go." Castor tucked his token in a pocket inside his coat and set off to find things.

Richard traded a pen he'd found at the bottom of his satchel and a baby bottle he'd taken from the hole he and the marquis had spent the night in for a pry bar. The young man who sold it to him seemed quite taken with the pen, which had "Welcome to Oahu!" written on it in fuchsia lettering, with a hula girl on it whose top fell off when you held the pen upside down. Castor obtained two lengths of rope that looked sturdy enough, and some food from somewhere. Richard didn't bother asking what it was. He hadn't eaten since leaving the White Chapel, and it wasn't meat, which was good enough.

Around them, the market began to break up. Richard and Castor skirted the edges, then detoured to avoid the Sewer Folk, and were on their way just as the bell began to toll, signaling the time to go.

"How often do the Markets happen?" Richard asked. "Is it regular?"

Castor shook his head. "Hard to tell, isn't it? Upworlders, and the folk who live in the eaves and rooftops, they've got night and day and all that to tell them. In the Underside its harder to tell what time it is, or day. If you end up in a pocket of old time you could even end up ahead of everyone else, or behind. You've got to rely on things like the train to the Chapel, or go up and see if you can find a shop with a calendar or something. Places like Night's Bridge, where the night comes with every crossing, they mess you up 'til you don't know any more. The City's like that too. Compress space and you compress time too. It's only been a day or two since your friend got trapped, to us. To him, its probably been a week or so."

"And he's still alive?" Richard asked before he thought about it. Of course the marquis was still alive. He was probably one of the craftiest people in London Below. He had once given Richard some fruitcake he'd had in his pocket. He probably had a whole five course dinner hidden away on his person. Richard hoped that de Carabas had found the bit of the cross that the nuns had sent him for. He wasn't really sure he wanted to go running around the White City with the marquis to find it if he hadn't.

Castor chuckled. "Oh, I should think so. The rats'd know if he wasn't. I tell you, the rats are very excited about all this. There hasn't been anything to bring the City rats out in quite some time." He smiled at Richard and led him down an alley. "Here we are, won't be long now until we're at the borders of the White City."

 

 **Part 6 - The Rescue**

Crossing the border into the White City had been every bit as bad as Castor had described on the way there. The bit of food that Richard had eaten before they arrived was now residing on the flagstones where they had crossed. As far as Richard could tell, it had something to do with the whole compression deal, with the food refusing to shrink down to the space allowed in his stomach. Whatever the reason, queasy was simply not an adequate term.

As they walked through the city, Richard found himself trying to picture what it had looked like in its prime. It was obvious that battles had been waged here by the gaping holes in the walls of buildings, and charred ruins of rooftops and doorways. There were no corpses in evidence, but Richard was not foolish enough to think that there were none around. A bone here or there could have belonged to an animal, but Richard doubted it. Overall it was an eerie place, and one that Richard found intensely sad. Some of the buildings must have once been grand, amazing spectacles of architectural skill. Now they were all but rubble. There was something wrong with an abandoned city. Richard kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see people in the doorways they passed, but there were none.

Two more rats had joined them soon after their crossing, and they and Master Pinknose were leading Castor and Richard through the maze of tumbled walls and broken furniture. So far, the rats were the only sign of life in the whole place.

"Do people still live here?" Richard whispered to Castor.

"A few. There are some who were the last survivors of the original inhabitants," Castor told him in a normal speaking volume. "They don't come out much though. There are a few more dangerous groups, but the rats say they're busy on the other side of the city, and not all that interested in us."

Richard nodded, but still checked behind himself every so often as they walked. Soon, he realized that they had entered what must have at one point been a park, or arboretum. Small, twisted trees grew in irregular rows, looking odd and alien. Richard caught himself wondering how they grew with no sunlight until he realized that they were not trees at all, but giant fungi. A great stone arch was at the opposite end from where they had entered and the rats were headed for it.

"Be careful, step only on the dark grey stones," Castor advised. "This is one of the places where the traps are still intact. It may be that your marquis triggered one, and it may be that he was just unlucky."

Richard would have nodded had he not been looking down to watch his step and make certain to place his feet in the right spots. It made for slow going, but slow was better than dead.

"What would happen if we'd just walked through on the grass?" Richard asked when they reached the arch.

"This." Castor leaned down and picked up a stone, then tossed it into the garden and landed it near one of the fungi. It shuddered and a small cloud drifted out from its trunk. "Poisonous. Doesn't last long, but still, unpleasant. Nasty little area, but it's the only way to get to the courtyard your marquis is trapped under."

After the deadly garden was a stone labyrinth full of statues of various animals, then a large, echoing room with a marble floor. No warnings came with these spaces, so Richard allowed himself to simply take them in. Perhaps due to the traps outside, these areas seemed to be intact, and undamaged. They were certainly beautiful, if desolate, and Richard could well imagine people moving through them, talking, laughing, conducting business. It seemed such a pity.

When they left the marble-floored room, Richard realized that he could hear singing.

"They wiped me up, and they wiped me down..." The words echoed down a long hallway towards them in what was most definitely the marquis' voice.

"Right, that's him," Richard said. The rats squeaked and scurried on into the courtyard and over to an open grate by the wall.

"This is the place then." Castor set down his things and knelt next to the grate. "Marquis? The marquis de Carabas?"

The marquis stopped in mid-song. "Entirely possible. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"M'name's Castor. I'm a Rat Speaker, we met on the way to the Chapel. I've brought a friend of yours." Castor set to prying away a hunk of wood from the fallen support beam.

"De Carabas, it's me, Richard. Castor came to the Chapel and said you were singing dirty songs. You know, you're quite famous with the rats now. I think they want to give you a record contract." Richard got down next to Castor to help him. "So are you just sitting there on your bum, waiting to be rescued or what?"

"Richard, my good man, how thoughtful of you to tag along. I am, in fact, not sitting at all. I am lying down and utterly unable to move a damned thing other than my hands. No leverage to speak of and there's a bloody great block of wood in my way." The marquis sounded in good health and good spirits, but Richard bristled at the implication that he'd done nothing of use.

"I'll have you know that I'm not completely useless, de Carabas. In fact, I think you'll be owing me a big, fat favor for this. The rats wouldn't have helped you on their own, they'd just have enjoyed your singing until you died." Richard got the rope around the hunk of wood and pulled. It shifted a bit and the whole tunnel seemed to groan beneath their feet. He pulled again and this time Castor grabbed hold of the rope and helped. Another groan, and another pull, again and again, bit by bit, the wood moved. Richard worried for a moment that the tunnel would collapse further and crush the marquis, but the block of wood was followed by a hand, and an arm, and then another hand and another arm, which were, thankfully, still attached to the marquis de Carabas.

"Well, wasn't that an adventure." The marquis dusted himself off and smiled at Richard and Castor. "I do believe I owe you both some thanks."

"Not that we wouldn't like to hold onto that for a bit, but the rats'd like the words to some of those songs you've been singing, as their thanks and ours," Castor told him. The marquis nodded and held out his hand to shake.

"My pleasure. Wonderful songs, should be preserved. What about you, Richard?"

"Oh, I don't know," Richard said slowly. "I think I'll have to consider my options."

 

 **Part 7 - The End**

The nuns seemed glad to have the little crystal box back in their possession, and handed over an egg to the marquis, who promptly placed it in a silver box and tucked it in a pocket. They stayed at the Chapel only for the afternoon until the late train came in, then they departed.

"You're sure you don't want to stay at the White Chapel?" de Carabas asked while they waited on the platform outside the gates.

"No," Richard said, shaking his head as he checked his pockets and satchel. "Why stay here when I can continue to pester you all the time? Besides, you owe me a favor."

The marquis rolled his eyes and nodded. "So you have reminded me, several times. And you still do not know what you would like to ask for?"

Richard grinned. "I have a few ideas, but you'll have to wait until we're away from the Chapel. I dont think they'd like what I've got in mind."

"Really? You'll have to tell me. Soon, perhaps?" The marquis stepped onto the train as soon as the doors opened and sat down, extending his legs out across the aisle. Richard sat next to him and looked around. They were the only ones on the train aside from the conductor.

"Soon enough." Richard chuckled as the marquis hastily covered a look of annoyance with his usual smirk.

When they got off the train at Mile End, the marquis showed Richard a little passage at the far end of the platform, disguised behind a vending machine and a rubbish bin.

"You can't get into the station this way," the marquis said as they pushed through a one-way door. "But you can get out, and there's a rather useful little room up ahead a ways. Think we can get there without you owing me another favor?"

Richard nodded. "I got you out of the White City, and I might not know its history, but its pretty clear that it's a dangerous place. I think I can make it down a passage to a safe room for the night."

"Would you like the history of the City? As your favor? I know all the stories, tragic as they are," the marquis offered.

"I don't think so. I think I'll be asking for a different favor first, and then I'll have to owe you for the stories. Unless you're feeling particularly energetic today, and want to collect payment for that up front." Richard grinned at the marquis and then grinned wider at the look of utter disbelief which crossed the marquis' face, followed closely by suspicion, and then a grin to match Richard's own.


End file.
